by Stan Mason
‘There doesn’t seem to be any reply,’ reported his secretary with a nervous edge to her voice.
‘Are you sure you dialled the right number?’
Her hand shook as she cancelled the call to tap out the number again. There was a long pause as she listened to the ringing tone. ‘It’s the right number,’ she confirmed with a saddened expression on her face, ‘but there’s no answer.’
‘Oh my God!’ he blasphemed, his face turning a shade of pale. ‘Don’t say he’s blown up the bloody branch!’
‘If the branch was demolished, surely the telephone wouldn’t ring, would it?’
‘The ringing occurs in the telephone exchange,’ explained Rigby edgily, picking up the receiver on his desk to listen to the dialling tone ‘Even if the instrument burned to a cinder, you’d still hear the ringing tone. Keep on the line. He must answer eventually!‘
Betty Brewer shrugged her shoulders and then obeyed the order, breathing a sigh of relief as the Assistant Manager answered the call. ‘Carlisle!’ roared Rigby angrily. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
’Sorry, Mr. Rigby,’ apologised the young man. ‘I went downstairs to make myself a cup of tea.’
‘Are you on this planet, Carlisle? You went downstairs to make yourself a cup of tea?’
‘I had a dry tickle in my throat.’
‘Don’t leave this ‘phone unattended again! You nearly frightened the life out of me! Let’s get this straight. You’re the only contact Head Office has with your branch. You have to remain alert and on the spot at all times. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Mr. Rigby.’
‘Very well. Have there been any further developments?’
‘They’re just talking to each other as though it’s an interview. Shall I offer them some tea?’
‘You stay exactly where you are!’ shouted Rigby with an urgent tone in his voice. Don’t go anywhere near that room! Just stay near to the telephone. I’ll call you again shortly but if something happens ring me right away.’
He replaced the receiver and shook his head slowly. ‘Tea!’ he muttered curtly. ‘He went downstairs to make himself a cup of tea and then asks if he should do the same for the Manager and the robber! Can you believe it? I don’t know. He went to work this morning as usual only to find his head in the lion’s mouth. I should feel sorry for him really. I just hope he’ll be able to boast about it all to his grandchildren.’
Betty Brewer stood up and stared out of the window. ‘A newspaper vendor’s standing on the pavement with a large placard on the box beside him,’ she told him. ‘I can’t see anything about Croydon there,’
Rigby went behind her to look outside. ‘It’s too early yet.’
‘Just something about a record transfer fee for a footballer and a threatened national rail strike on Friday.’
He returned to his chair with a hundred thoughts passing through his mind at once. ‘Do you have anything about the rules of expenses in this job? Were there any papers kept by Clement Davies about them? Only I have another idea but the cost would be phenomenal.’
‘From what I can see,’ she responded, ‘Mr. Davies did as he pleased. This is not the kind of job where limits apply... especially with emergencies. What’s your idea’
‘It’ll make your hair stand on end. Look at it this way, A man’s threatening to blow up the branch if his demands aren’t met. What if we blew it up for him? With the exception of the Manager’s office that is!’ She stared at him as though he had taken leave of his senses but couldn’t find the words sufficient to form a response. ‘Admittedly, the Manager’s with him but if everything else is demolished, it ought to resolve the situation.’
‘You can’t be serious!’ she riposted, finding her voice.
‘Don’t you see. Psychologically the threat’s removed. He can’t blow up something that doesn’t exist any more.’
‘What would be the purpose?’
‘To save three lives of course!’
‘And what if he doesn’t have a bomb. How would you explain blowing up the branch then. You’d have egg all over your face., You’d have blown up the branch for no reason at all.’
‘Have you ever played bridge, Betty?’ he asked innocuously.
‘No,’ she replied, failing to see the connection.
‘It’s an interesting game,’ he went on as though he had all the time in the world to explain his argument. ‘It’s a game where you work out the odds and possibilities.’
‘I don’t understand the connection.’
‘It’s a skill in which you test the possibilities, the probabilities, weigh the odds, and take a view on the eventual outcome. I’ve taken that view, having weighed up all the odds. They could demolish the branch in two seconds flat.’
‘You send shivers running down my spine,’ retorted his secretary edgily.
The door of the office opened and Sandra entered. Rigby stood up in surprise for she was the last person he expected to see. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked ungallantly.
‘Goodness!’ she replied, pretending to be slightly wounded by his sharp attitude. ‘That’s not a very pleasant greeting, is it?’
He recovered quickly and went on the defensive. ‘I didn’t mean it that way, sweetheart. I didn’t expect to see you, that’s all.’
‘You sounded miserable on your first day in the job so I thought I’d come and cheer you up. How about some lunch?’
He looked up at the ceiling in mock dismay at her invitation. ‘I really can’t afford the time,’ he told her flatly. ‘There’s too many urgent matters that need my immediate attention.’
‘Nonsense!’ she chided. ‘You’re only an employee in this bank, you don’t own it! Come on! We’ll go to that Italian restaurant nearby and Betty can telephone you if there’s an emergency. Or we can go to your Refreshment Club... unless women are barred.’
He was hard-pressed for a decision and the glum expression on his face indicated how he felt. Anyone else would have been turned down immediately... but not Sandra! He weighed up her words in his mind. He had a responsibility in the bank but he didn’t own it. Even more to the point was the fact that they didn’t own him either!
‘What’s the current situation, Betty?’ he asked turning to his secretary.
‘You realise that the ultimatum has less than thirty minutes to go,’ she told him point-blank.
Rigby looked at the clock on the wall. ‘I can only spend fifteen minutes with you, sweetheart,’ he told her mournfully as guilt built up inside him ‘How did you get into the building? Didn’t the security staff stop you and ask for some identity?’
‘No,’ she told him frankly.
‘No!’ he uttered in disbelief, creasing his brow. ‘I must look into that’
‘Don’t you want me to come here to see you?’ she asked, ostensibly stung by his insinuation.
‘Of course I do,’ he laughed, ‘but if people can simply walk into the Boardroom floor of the bank without being checked, we have no protection at all. Security is vital in banking! Come on! We’ll have a quick sandwich and a cup of coffee and then I have to get back.’ He turned to his secretary. ‘Ring me on my mobile if anything happens, Betty.’
They took the lift to the sixth floor and sat down at a table prepared for lunch. ’There’s a glint in your eye,’ he began, ’and I don’t much like it. Come to think of it, unless you had something serious to talk about you wouldn’t be here today. What is it?’
’It’s had to get anything past you, darling,’ she smiled. ’Two things! First let’s deal with Diane. ‘
‘Oh, Hell!’ he swore. He gritted his teeth even before he knew the problem. ‘She hasn’t been pestering you again, has she? I can arrange for a Court Order to prevent her from hassling you.’
‘No, it’s not that,’ returned
Sandra meekly. ‘She’s willing to give you a divorce.’
‘I know. Ken Bamburg contacted me. Did he ring you as well?’
‘No he didn’t. Diane did. She said she deserved more for all the years of her life that she gave you.’
‘Never mind all that!’ he growled, furious that his wife had contacted his mistress on such a delicate matter. ‘I suppose you want me to agree to her condition.’
‘I never said that. You’ll have to decide for yourself.’
‘Come on, Sandra! It’s your life as well. Whatever decision I make will affect you.’
‘I don’t mind,’ she told him, although he didn’t know whether to believe her or not. ‘I know you’ll consider it carefully. I’ll agree with whatever you decide.’
He took her hand and caressed it gently before lifting it to kiss her fingers. Then he realised that he was in the Manager’s Dining Club where he was well-known and lowered it with embarrassment. ‘I don’t deserve you, you know,’ he whispered, staring into her blue eyes. ‘Dame Fortune really smile on me when you came along. Perhaps you’re the consolation for some of the bad things that happened to me in my life.’ He paused to savour the moment with her and then came back to reality. ‘I’ve given some thought to the divorce and the sale of the house. I’m not going to give in to blackmail.’
‘You’re going to turn down her offer then,’ she uttered with a bland expression on her face.
‘I didn’t say that,’ he defended. ‘Trust me, sweetheart. I’m not going to give in to jealousy or blackmail. Any person who resorts to such measures deserves nothing. Diane’s not going to benefit from me, I assure you. Do you honestly think I should let her get away with it?’
‘I don’t know, darling,’ she replied candidly. ‘I’m not in a position to advise you.’
He shrugged his shoulders aimlessly trying to determine a solution which would satisfy her. ‘She’s playing with our lives,’ he continued to whisper. ‘For the sake of the money, she’ll concede and give me a divorce. If not, she’s willing to see us in Hell!’
‘You don’t have to resolve anything here and now.’
‘I’ll have to do something about it soon. I know her. She’ll start raising the ante after a while if I don’t yield to her whims. She’ll try to exact every pound of flesh!’
‘You’re raising your voice,’ she warned him quietly. ‘People are staring at you.’
‘Good!’ he snorted in a small fit of temper. ‘A loud word in the right quarter may get us some service! This Club is falling apart at the seams!’
‘John!’ she chided, a little surprised at his sudden immaturity. ‘Don’t let Diane get under your skin. She’s just an unhappy person and very lonely.’
‘She told you that, did she? Turned on the sob stuff!’ he scoffed. A waitress approached their table and took their luncheon order before Rigby spoke again. ‘What we have is a Mexican stand-off with the advantage on our side. It’s up to us to agree a deal... not her! She want the money but if I decide not to sell the house she wouldn’t benefit at all.’
‘It isn’t terribly important for us to get married,’ she cut in. ‘I love you and I like living with you. If you want to be conventional it’s okay by me but marriage is purely a legal state not a romantic one. I’m quite happy to be your mistress until death us do part.’
‘You’d rather we stay in the same house in which I lived with Diane then?’
‘I don’t see why not. She’s gone. Everything about her will be changed except for the house itself. I want you not the property or the chattels. As far as I’m concerned, she gone for good. it’s our house now. And if we have children, well there’s no stigma in having a child born out of wedlock these days. It’s common practice. So why all the fuss about divorce?’
‘I tend to forget there’s a score of years between our ages,’ he sighed loudly. ‘In my young days, marriage was so important. It now has a much lesser meaning... if anything at all.’
‘John Rigby!’ she challenged with ostensible irritation. ‘Are you telling me to grow up?’
‘On the contrary, sweetheart. It’s not you... it’s me!’ he explained solemnly. ‘I’m more old-fashioned than I’m willing to admit.’
The waitress brought them some sandwiches and a pot of coffee but, before they could start to eat, Sandra reached out for his hand. ‘I want you to promise me you’ll not be cruel to her, do you understand? She really wishes you no harm so don’t hurt her further.’
‘You forget that she’s been a damned nuisance over the past six months... and now there’s this ultimatum.’
‘I told you... she’s lonely and unhappy. Sometimes you tend to lack empathy towards those who need a little kindness. I think that’s why your Board selected you for your new job. They recognised the hardness in your character.’
‘Steady, sweetheart!’ he cautioned. ‘You don’t need to snipe!’
The waitress returned to their table seeking his attention.
‘Are you Mr. Rigby?’ she asked innocently.
‘That’s me!’ he replied wishing that he could lie to evade the message.
‘There’s a telephone call for you, sir. They said it was urgent.’
He threw the serviette on to the table as he stood up and moved to the telephone located on a table in the corner of the room. ‘Rigby!’ he snarled into the receiver.
‘We have a problem, Mr. Rigby,’ Betty Brewer told him.
‘Croydon?’ he asked quickly, anticipating bad news.
‘No, not Croydon. It’s here at Head Office. If you look out of the window there are hundreds of people marching up and down in front of the bank waving banners and placards and shouting slogans.’
‘What are they saying?’
‘I don’t know but all the telephone are ringing from people who want you to do something about it. The bank’s under siege!’
‘All right, Betty. I’ll come right away.’ He replaced the receiver into its cradle and stared at Sandra in dismay. ‘Christ!’ he muttered to himself. ‘That’s all I need... a bloody siege!’
Almost in a panic, he departed leaving his lunch on the table and hurried through to the lifts to take him to ground floor level. Initially it was his intention to return to his office, however he felt forced to change his mind to experience the next labour requiring his immediate attention. As he reached the ground floor, his chest heaved to indicate his poor physical condition, and he tensed himself for the impact. In another fifteen seconds, after he turned into the main hallway of the building to go on to the street, all would be revealed.
Chapter Four
The rally was scheduled to begin outside the bank at noon that day but the arrangements had been poor resulting in the demonstrators arriving in fragmented groups at different periods of time. Most of them stood outside the main doors to the bank while others preferred to drift towards a fountain located opposite the front entrance where they skilfully avoided the gentle spray floated off on the breeze, The fountain was a strategic point for the rally because it afforded some element of protection from the police with regard to obstruction as the area was totally predestined. Consequently, it was extremely difficult to prove obstruction as the circular pool had become a regular meeting place for many commuters and tourists who came to observe the ornamental fish figurines adorning the fountain at close quarters as they spewed out jets of water in a continuous stream. The number of people now gathered at that focal point, however, was far in excess of a normal crowd and it soon became clear that the attention of the authorities would be attracted in due course. Nonetheless, there was nothing undesirable in the actions of the demonstrators, many of who carried large coloured banners emblazoned with carefully-chosen slogans to represent their cause.
As time passed, the assembly grew larger until it became impossible for customers of the bank to
enter and leave without great difficulty. It was at that moment as Rigby appeared at the entrance to view the jostling pack compressing itself against the giant glass doors and the windows of the bank. The demonstrators had been told that their action would be essentially non-violent but that police failed to prevent some of them expressing their emotions in favour of the cause. They did this by chanting slogans and creating sufficient noise to disturb the concentration of all the people working in the offices within earshot.
Rigby glanced at the banners to acquaint himself with the reason for the demonstration, indicating to the ring-leaders to retreat from the entrance so that he could open the front door. The fulfilment of this action, as one of the doors was forced open, heralded a thundering noise as the chanting became a deafening row, and the banker shrugged his shoulders helplessly to show his inability to comment any sort of initiative. Shortly, voices were raised in an attempt to establish silence and hands waved down the groups of chanters until all became relatively quiet... the echoes dying in the distance.
‘Which one of you is the leader?’ enquired Rigby against the gentle clamour of chattering and blustering in the background.
‘We’re all leaders!’ claimed a bearded youth at the front. ‘Everyone amongst us is equal!’
The banker ignored him as though he didn’t exist and sought advice again. ‘Which of you is the spokesman for your cause? Surely there must be one among you with authority to speak for the rest!’
‘Abdul!’ came the reply which someone took to be the beginning of a new chant and set the demonstrators shouting again.
‘Ab... dul! Ah... dul! Ab... dul! Ab... dul!’ they chanted in unison until hands and arms waved them down.
‘I’m Abdul,’ declared another bearded young man pushing his way to the front. He raised his fist closed in a salute and faced the banker with an air of determination. ‘You can speak with me.’
